


Proximity

by vjs2259



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-21
Updated: 2009-05-21
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:37:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vjs2259/pseuds/vjs2259
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this line from the series:<br/>"...but I try not to be judgmental about alien cultures...when they're dressed like that."</p>
<p>Three Starfleet officers try to determine what exactly is wrong with their Captain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proximity

Susan joined the other officers at their usual table in Earhart's. Carefully setting down her drink, vodka straight up (it had been a long week), she paused to stretch her arms over her head. The effort was rewarded with an audible crack in her lower back, and she sighed in relief.

 

"That's really not good for your spine," remarked Dr. Stephen Franklin, taking a sip of his (small) tot of bourbon.

 

"It feels good, and it's my spine in any case," retorted Ivanova, sitting and taking a moment to knock back her drink. "It's going to take more than one tonight," she muttered, gesturing to the bartender. He nodded quickly, and poured another, then pointed to a circulating waiter to take it over. The bartender hesitated only a moment, then added the bottle to the tray. Susan smiled in satisfaction. Frank was working out behind the bar. She'd approved him for the position, and it had been a good choice. She rejoiced in a job well done.

 

"Where's Garibaldi?" Susan asked after she finished the last drop of her drink. "I need to get an opinion on something from you two, and I don't care to repeat myself."

 

"Boo!"

 

Susan jumped as Michael Garibaldi laughed and swung into the chair next to her. Stephen pushed the water carafe Frank had sent over with his own drink towards the Security chief. Making a face at Susan, he asked, "Aren't you ever going to learn to expect a surprise entrance from him? He does it every time." Watching as Susan turned a rather attractive shade of pink, he went on, "Well, what did you want to ask us?"

 

"There's a problem with the Captain," she said somberly, her eyes downcast, and her hands nervously fiddling with her empty glass.

 

Stephen looked concerned, and glanced at Michael. The chief remained in the same relaxed position, sipping at the tall glass of cool water he'd just poured out, but the doctor noted a tension around his eyes, and an air of alertness that signaled Garibaldi had shifted to work mode. Stephen sighed inwardly as they watched the waiter put a second glass and the open bottle in front of Ivanova. He worried about all the command staff. They were in high stress positions, and between the lack of sleep, the bad eating habits, and the drinking (for some of them anyway), he was surprised there weren't more problems. Sheridan seemed like a stable enough man, and had handled every crisis so far with calm confidence. Everyone had a breaking point though. "What's wrong with the Captain? It's been pretty quiet lately, is there something going on we should know about?" asked Stephen.

 

"It's hard to describe," Susan had poured another shot, but had shifted to sipping at her drink. "Nothing I can put my finger on...a lack of focus."

 

Stephen looked dubious. "That doesn't sound so bad. Is it affecting his work?"

 

"Sometimes. It's just that he'll be acting perfectly normally, during a briefing, or talking before a conference, walking down the hall...then, boom! I've lost him. He just stops listening, or even understanding what I'm saying. Then it passes, and he continues the conversation. He picks up where we left off, but you can tell he just shut down for a minute. It's disconcerting, and potentially a problem." Susan looked from one man to the other. Stephen's brow was furrowed as he worked through possible medical reasons. Michael still maintained an air of unconcern.

 

"Maybe he just gets tired of hearing all the stuff you shove at him, Susan," Michael said grinning slightly. "I check out when you go on and on at staff meetings. Haven't you ever noticed?"

 

"Only when you snore so loudly the others can no longer hear the presentation," retorted Susan. "I'm serious, Michael. It's eerie, like something short circuits his brain periodically."

 

"I can call him in for a physical exam," offered Stephen. "I can't think of any condition that would cause this kind of symptom...not without a lot of other symptoms that would be pretty obvious."

 

"He'll jib at that," declared Michael. "Unless you can make it seem routine."

 

"I'm fairly good at this," Stephen said dryly. "I've had years of practice. But I doubt I'll be able to get him in right away in any case. He's a busy man."

 

"Okay," said Michael thoughtfully, "You set that up. I've got an idea of my own. Let me look into this, Susan. You just carry on." He waved his hand in airy dismissal.

 

"All right," said Susan abruptly. "I'll leave this up to you two. One week." She paused to drain her glass. "I expect results."

 

The two men exchanged glances again. They were in for it now.

 

*****************************

 

Captain John Sheridan was beginning to feel harassed. Everywhere he went this week, his Security chief was there. He could swear that Mr. Garibaldi was following him, or even using the ship's com system to track his movements and get to wherever he was going before he did! It wasn't anything he could call the man on; he always had a good reason for being in the vicinity, and his work certainly hadn't suffered, but it was annoying. Especially since Garibaldi was using his most ingratiating manner. He hadn't known the man long, but he already knew Garibaldi was at his most dangerous when he looked the most innocent.

 

It started every morning at breakfast. He normally saw most of the command staff at breakfast. True, Ivanova sometimes came so late that he was already on his way out, and Dr. Franklin skipped the meal when he'd pulled a late shift in MedLab, but he usually saw Garibaldi. Today, after breakfast, he'd run into the man twice before noon, and then twice more afterwards. It was unusual, and he didn't like anything unusual. On top of that, Stephen had pulled rank and ordered him in for his biannual physical. He'd managed to put it off a few days, but he'd have to go. It was regulation, after all. Twice a year, everyone on the command staff was subject to a complete physical. It could be more often, if there was a problem, and that determination was completely at the discretion of the Chief Medical Officer.

 

Everything was annoying him today. There had been a meeting of the Council scheduled, and it had been delayed. There was an official diplomatic reception at the end of the week, honoring visitors from the Earth Alliance Senate, and he'd sent notice to each ambassador notifying them. He'd heard back from everyone but the Minbari.They were usually the first to respond. Susan had waylaid him yesterday on his way to the batting cage with another stack of reports that needed read and signed off on. He'd zoned out a little during her explanation, and she'd been unable to hide her concern. Sometimes it just all seemed a little much. Not the work per say, he was used to hard work. It was the _type_ of work. Station maintenance, crew issues, even the port activities; those were things common to his previous missions. But you add in the diplomatic niceties of dealing with the ambassadors, the Senate, his superiors in EarthForce, not to mention the conspirators in EarthForce...it was getting complicated. Walking back from the Council chambers to C &C, he found himself at the entrance to the station's garden area. There was a shortcut through the gardens. He'd take that way. His mood lightened as soon as he walked through the doorway. Hands clasped loosely behind his back, he strode down the pebbled path, taking deep breaths of air scented with green plants rather than the subtle metallic tang of the recyclers.

 

Michael Garibaldi stepped out from behind a tall flowering tree. He'd been checking out the situation for a few days now and he had a theory. Now all he had to do was contact Stephen, and set a few other thing in motion, and he could see if he was right. With any luck, he'd get confirmation before Susan's deadline. Not that he was worried about that in the slightest; he could handle her. As he headed out the doorway and down the corridor towards the turbo-lift that would take him to MedLab, he drummed his fingers impatiently against his thigh. At least he thought he could. She was pretty protective of the Captain, and the station. She might not like what he had to say. He wondered uneasily about her views on blaming the messenger.

 

***************************

 

Stephen Franklin was busy seeing patients. There had been a long queue of low level diplomats in the waiting area who felt they deserved the personal attention of the head of station medical staff. Trying to avoid piles of necessary paperwork, he'd agreed to see a few of them, but he was already regretting it. Nothing urgent or even interesting had presented itself, and the patients were ungrateful or even resentful when he pointed this out to them. It was with some relief that he saw Michael signal from the door his need to talk, and he turned over the last of them to a junior medical officer.

 

"What's up?" he asked after stripping the gloves from his hands. He'd had to do a nasal scouring on a plugged Drazi, and the resulting orange goo would stain right through the gloves if not removed right away. Stains like that led to some interesting conversations at mealtime in the officer's mess.

 

"Have you scheduled the Captain's physical yet?" asked Michael, wrinkling his nose at the smell emanating from the biohazard waste receptacle. "How do you stand the smell in here?" he said, with a slight gagging noise.

 

"Nasal filters. It's not so bad. That time you had me pump the pak'mara's stomachs...now that was bad." Stephen looked at Michael speculatively. He hadn't actually made the man pay adequately for that, had he? It was something to consider, even if it was a long time ago. "He's due in tomorrow afternoon, around 1400. Why? Have you figured out what's wrong?"

 

"Let's just say I have some ideas," Michael answered vaguely. "Have there been any Minbari in here lately?"

 

Stephen looked at him in exasperation. "What's that got to do with anything?" He rapidly ran through the week's cases mentally, and said, "We did have a worker from one of their freighters come in. He had some symptoms of trok'nar...sort of like a Minbari 'flu. It's contagious, and he'd been around the station; the docks, and the Zocalo. It can be serious, so we had to isolate him briefly while we ran some tests. He got out yesterday, and I think the freighter's due to leave tomorrow sometime."

 

"Good, that's perfect." Michael smiled, and rubbed his hands together happily.

 

Stephen looked alarmed. "What's perfect? What are you up to, Michael?"

 

"All you have to do is be a witness. Call me when the Captain gets here. I'll give you a buzz on your link when I'm set, and you get the Captain involved in something mental." At Stephen's confused look, he went on to explain, "I mean some kind of mental test. Something that would show if he 'lost focus' or whatever Susan said." Michael added quickly, "Watch him and see what happens. We'll talk after you're done with him."

 

"All right," said Stephen reluctantly. "This isn't anything I'm going to regret, is it? I can't allow any interference with an official physical, or any medical exam for that matter."

 

"I won't come near the two of you. Just pay attention, and don't forget to let me know when he gets here!" With that, Michael jammed his hands in his pockets and walked off humming happily under his breath. Stephen couldn't place the tune.

 

*****************************

 

The next afternoon Captain Sheridan showed up promptly. Stephen excused himself while his superior undressed, and managed to put in the call to Garibaldi. When he got back, he un-opaqued the window glass of the exam room, and started the basic physical tests. Sheridan had put on the loose drawstring trousers and open tunic with only minimal grousing. Stephen kept watch on the entrance to MedLab One with one eye while looking at the results from the portable medical recorder with the other. The device had already been loaded with the baseline from Sheridan's file, and showed no real difference in heart rate, respiration, oxygen saturation, blood pressure, etc. The man was absurdly healthy in fact, although he could stand to lose a little weight. Stephen decided to suggest a little more time in the exercise area; that also might help with whatever was supposedly affecting his mental state. As he was taking samples for blood chemistry, his link buzzed impatiently.

 

"Aren't you going to answer that?" asked Sheridan quizzically. "Don't mind me, this is almost like time off. Except for the clothes." He pulled at the tunic in exasperation. It was meant for a smaller man and gaped open at the front.

 

Stephen handed Captain Sheridan a datapad with a set of simple questions and math problems designed to test memory and basic cognition. "It's not important. Here, work on these while I look at this data. Then we're done. For another six months at least."

 

Sheridan took out the stylus and stared at the screen. "I've never had to do this before. What's it for?"

 

"New to the protocol. Mental acuity test. Guess they want to make sure you passed high school without cheating." Stephen sat down at the desk that was integrated into the half-wall of cabinets that ran the length of the exam room, and began to enter his notes into the computer. Looking up, he saw Garibaldi enter the lab with Ambassador Delenn.

 

Captain Sheridan's stylus moved down the screen, ticking off boxes or scribbling answers. He lifted his head for a moment, and glanced out the window. His writing slowed, then stopped.

 

"That's a timed test," Stephen prompted.

 

Sheridan looked back at the screen and continued answering the questions.

 

**************************

 

"But why did you need me to come here, Mr. Garibaldi? Could I not sign the form in my quarters?" The Minbari ambassador tone was polite, but the question betrayed her growing impatience.

 

"It's a new regulation. Anyone suspected of harboring an infectious agent needs to be cleared by the medical staff, and their release has to be countersigned by the ambassador or their representative. I tried to reach Lennier, but he's off station." Garibaldi retreated into Stephen's office, just opposite the exam room. He held onto the file so that Delenn had to come further into MedLab to take it from him. She was in full view of the examination room.  
  


"But I know nothing of medical matters. Dr. Franklin has assured you, and me, that the worker did not have trok'nar. And he is due to leave the station today!" Even as she protested, she began to methodically read over the hastily put together form which was clipped on top of the file.

 

Garibaldi hoped his invention would withstand her scrutiny. "He won't be leaving without this paper." Seeing how quickly she was reading, he added, "Read it carefully; you never know what the Doc might have slipped in there. You could be signing away the family farm."

 

Delenn looked up, surprised, and said, "My family was never involved in agricultural pursuits, Mr. Garibaldi. We have no farm to lose. And why is Dr. Franklin or one of his staff not handling this? Surely this does not fall into your job parameters?"

 

"The doc is busy with Captain Sheridan right now," Garibaldi jerked a thumb at the glassed-in room across the hallway from the office where they stood. He saw Stephen staring at him, and waved at him cheerfully. "See, there he is!"

 

Delenn looked across to see the two men in one of the examination rooms. Sheridan was sitting on a white-sheeted gurney and writing something on a datapad. Franklin's attention seemed to be on his medical instruments. A blue open weave tunic was hanging off Sheridan's broad shoulders, and his bare chest was visible. "Is there anything wrong with the Captain?" she asked, her heart suddenly racing. It was quite warm in Dr. Franklin's office. She felt a surge of sharp concern. Maybe it had been trok'nar after all.

 

Michael assured her quickly, "No, no. Just routine." Then, as a thought occurred to him, he went on soberly, "At least, I think it is. You never know what might turn up in those tests." He watched Delenn's expression with interest.

 

Looking back over at the room, she saw the Captain hand the datapad back to Dr. Franklin. She asked hesitantly, "Would it be considered appropriate to ask him how he feels?"

 

"I don't think so," said Michael carefully, avoiding asking 'how he feels about what?' He went on smoothly, "Have you finished reading that yet?" He noted with fascination that her eyes had remained fixed on Sheridan. She had the oddest look on her face. He supposed she might be staring at Stephen, but it didn't seem likely. Taking a quick peek, he almost chortled aloud as he saw that Stephen had left the examination room and neglected to opaque the windows. Sheridan was getting dressed, and he and Delenn had quite a view. The clatter of the datafile hitting the floor as it left Delenn's hand brought his attention back with a jerk.

 

"Here, let me get that for you." Bending over to retrieve the file, he laid it on a nearby desktop. He tried valiantly to ignore the color rising in her cheeks as she wrenched her eyes away from Sheridan, and focused them firmly on the form. Picking up a pen, she leaned over to sign it where he indicated.

 

"Perhaps you could convey to the Captain my wishes for his continued good health?" Her voice wavered a little, then, more certainly, she added, "I am afraid I have another appointment. I must go." She bowed slightly to the Security Chief and hurried out of MedLab.

 

Laying aside the file and form, Garibaldi turned to find himself confronting Captain Sheridan.

 

"Was that Ambassador Delenn? What was she doing here?" His tone was suspicious, and he added belligerently, "For that matter, what are you doing here?"

 

Michael grinned and said, "Just stopped by for some headache medication. She was here about some sick Minbari from a freighter in dock. Doing the concerned ambassador thing, I guess."

 

Sheridan looked at the door, through which she'd gone, and said reluctantly, "I guess I better get back to work."

 

"She asked why you were here," Michael added abruptly, wondering why in the world he was getting involved. "I think she was worried. I told her it was just routine."

 

Sheridan's face brightened, and he said, "Thanks, Michael. Take care of that headache. Get some rest after your shift."

 

"Yes sir," said Michael. He watched the Captain leave, and Stephen approached quietly behind him. He had the datapad with Sheridan's test on it.

 

"He went all to pieces after you two got here," said Stephen. "Responses slowed, some answers wrong. A few are almost incoherent." He stared at Michael suspiciously. "You knew this would happen. How?"

 

"I've been following him all week. Whenever he gets within eyesight or earshot of Ambassador Delenn, his brain shuts right down. It's classic, and apparently mutual." Michael was having a hard time controlling his laughter. "It doesn't take much; they just need to be in general proximity!"

 

Stephen glared at Michael, and said, "This is pretty close to an invasion of their privacy, you know."

 

"Not half as much as your leaving the windows clear while he got dressed!" Michael said with a barely smothered snort. "I thought her eyes would pop out of her head!"

 

Stephen said, aghast, "I didn't!" Michael nodded; he couldn't speak he was laughing so hard. Stephen couldn't help it; he cracked a grin, then began to chuckle. "I guess you've figured it out." Then he added in sudden consternation, "What are we going to tell Susan?"

 

****************************

 

"You can _**not**_ be serious."

 

It was Friday night in Earhart's and the joint was jumping. Every off duty officer had seemingly gravitated to the bar after shift, and it seemed like the previous shift had stayed around to wait for them. Frank was pouring drinks and taking orders faster than seemed humanly possible. Susan had been waiting for them at their usual table, and they'd both fought to maintain a serious tone as they outlined the situation their investigation had revealed.

 

"The Captain. And Delenn. You're sure?" This last sounded suspiciously like a plea for it to be a joke.

 

"I'm sure. I think the doc agrees. What do you say, Stephen?" Michael was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed, a slight grin on his face. He was enjoying himself immensely. It was another job well done, another mystery solved.

 

"He's right," said Stephen with reluctant admiration. "Michael set them up, and they walked right into it. Figuratively," he hastened to add as Susan's face darkened. "What's the matter?" he went on to ask. "People fall in love all the time. Been happening for years. Even cross-species, it's not unknown." He tilted his head at Susan's expression. "That's not a problem, is it?"

 

"No!" Susan retorted. "The _problem_..." she drew out the word for emphasis, "is that he's human and she's Minbari, and he's the representative of Earth on this station, and she's the ambassador of her people. The problem is the appearance of neutrality and even-handedness that this station must maintain in order to work. The problem is other people, and other races, and their reactions. There are, in fact, too many problems to list!" She shook her head as the two men struggled to keep a straight face. "What are we going to do?"

 

"Do?" answered Stephen. "We are going to keep out of it. We've done quite enough. Leave 'em alone. It'll sort itself out. Those sort of intense feelings fade away with time." He took a sip of his drink, then added mischievously, "Usually."

 

"I know what would work," said Michael, leaning forward conspiratorially. The others leaned in so they could hear him. "Get them alone together and let them get it out of their system."

 

"Get what out of their system?" asked Susan, dreading the answer she knew she was about to receive.

 

"It," replied Michael firmly. "You know what I mean." Then his voice trailed off into a speculative mutter, "I wonder how that would work..."

 

Susan hastily interjected, "Not an option. Besides, you don't know what would happen! You're not even sure you know what you think you know they think!"

 

Both men stared at her for a moment as they tried to figure out what she meant...or even what she'd said. Finally, Stephen said, "I say we leave it be. It'll work out, one way or the other. Or not. In fact, I'll bet neither of them makes a move. They're both too cautious, and aware of their positions. Besides, the cultures are too different. Myself, I wouldn't know where to start!"

 

"No way," said Michael. "The number of times they 'accidentally' ran into each other this week...it was beyond belief. Those two are like magnets, get 'em close enough and they'll snap together. Once that happens, all bets are off."

 

Stephen smiled at Michael, "You're a romantic. I would never have guessed it." He turned to Susan, "What do you think?"

 

Sighing heavily, Susan replied, "It will be a problem, whatever happens. And I will be the one who has to deal with the repercussions." She brightened momentarily, "Perhaps they will realize the inherent difficulties and forget about this 'attraction' you two think you see." Then she relapsed into gloom. "No, that would be too easy. God would not be so kind."

 

"I'm willing to bet..." Michael started to say, then thought for a moment before continuing, "Yes. I'll bet both of you that they end up in a clinch before the year is out. I'll put my credits where my mouth is."

 

Stephen leaned forward, and said intently, "You're on. I say things will go on as they are. For a good long while. Not every relationship takes off quickly. Some of them simmer a long time."

 

Michael looked inward for a moment and replied pensively, "You're right there." Then he held out his hand to Stephen, and they shook on it. "Okay, it's a bet. Say, 20 credits?" He glanced over at Susan, "Are you in?"

 

Susan looked at the two of them in what was almost despair. "Neither of you are going to take this seriously, are you?"

 

Both men shook their head. "Not in the slightest," said Stephen.

 

"Nope," said Michael at the same time. Both of them were trying not to laugh at her fatalistic expression.

 

"All right then," said Susan with sudden determination. "I will bet with Stephen. That is 40 credits you will be out, Michael."

 

"I don't think so," said Michael. He drained his glass of water, and yawning, said, "I'm gonna turn in early tonight. Stalking the wild Sheridan was more tiring than I expected. The man travels a lot in one week. I think I walked the length of the station trailing him!"

 

"An early night sounds good," concurred Stephen. "Hold up, I'll walk out with you. See you next week, Susan, if not before."

 

Susan nodded absently as her friends rose and headed for the door. She signaled Frank behind the bar to send over another drink. The more she thought about it, the less likely it seemed she'd win her bet. Little bits of conversation, sideways glances, that dinner at the Fresh Aire...perhaps she had been hasty. Her mood lifted as she considered her options. There might be a way, she thought, that would benefit both the station and herself. For a moment she wondered what would be best for the Captain and Delenn. Perhaps they would be good together? Then she shook her head, the whole idea was crazy; it could never work. If she was right, all she had to do was keep them apart for a while, until this whatever-it-was burned itself out. And if it was meant to be, a little delay wouldn't hurt anything. She picked up her drink, and raised a silent toast to her burgeoning plan. Any good executive officer could subvert the pull exerted by mere proximity. It would be her mission to make clear the meaning of 'so close, and yet so far.'

 


End file.
